


Bless us all.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: British Royalty RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: A U, CChristmas, Childhood, Children, Christmas Morning, Family, Festive season, Fun, Gen, God - Freeform, Humour, Love, Marriage, Modern, Presents, Religion, Sister - Freeform, Spiritual, Tudors - Freeform, modern A U, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: Modern A U.Christmas morning spent with the Tudor  family, written mostly from the point of view of a seven year old Elizabeth Tudor. Christmas is a time for family, but as everyone knows, the Tudor family is quite a complex one.
Relationships: Henry VIII of England/Jane Seymour, henry VIII of England/anne boleyn
Kudos: 27





	Bless us all.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to a world of twinkling lights. She sat up in bed, a smile widening across her lips as she took a look around her bedroom. Decorated for Christmas, the walls of Elizabeth’s bedroom were covered with paper chains of all sizes and colours. The duvet that covered her was lavishly decorated with reindeer and snowflakes. Elizabeth had covered every inch of her large bedroom with reminders of the festive season. Mummy had helped, of course, but most of the decoration had been Elizabeth’s own work.

She lept out of bed, glancing out of the window. It was still dark outside. She knew that mummy and daddy disliked being woken up early, even on Christmas day. But Elizabeth Tudor needed to know what Santa had brought to her. She opened her bedroom door as quietly as she could and tiptoed out onto the landing. Glancing to her left and right, young Elizabeth made her way to the door of her parents’ bedroom. She passed the door of her sister’s room. Mary had hung a cross upon the door. It hung in holy reverence, the image of Jesus Christ a face that Elizabeth knew well. Daddy had invited Mary to their house for the celebrations a few days ago and already she had brought the religious aspect of Christmas home to them.

Elizabeth hurried past Mary’s door. She didn’t like to admit it, but she didn’t find Mary much fun at all. What on Earth had possessed her fun loving daddy to marry Mary’s mummy? Elizabeth didn’t at all know. Mary didn’t fit in with the rest of her family somehow. She, her daddy Henry and her mummy Anne were a unit unto themselves. They somehow managed to find fun in each and every day and this sense of fun was somehow lacking in her half sister Mary.

She was now standing at the door of her parents’ bedroom. She lifted a hand and knocked gently upon it, trying her best to wake mummy and daddy in as quiet and polite a manner as she could. 

She inched the door open, poking her face through the gap and smiling through at her parents lying in the bed at the far end of the room. They were stirring. Elizabeth grinned. That was better than nothing. It was Christmas. They had no business staying in bed. Elizabeth was awake. No one else should have been asleep this morning.

“Is that you, Lizzie dear?” asked her mummy, sitting up in bed and smiling at her daughter. Anne Boleyn opened her arms, black eyes sparkling with joy as her daughter rushed forward to throw herself into her mummy’s arms. 

“Happy Christmas, mummy,” Elizabeth exclaimed in rapturous joy, looking into the black eyes that were so similar to the eyes Elizabeth saw in her own mirror.

Anne Boleyn stroked her daughter’s scarlet hair and smiled. “Happy Christmas, darling,” she replied, “now, since we are all awake, shall we go down and open presents?”

Elizabeth squealed with joy. “Oh, yes!” she cried, “let us go down right now. I can’t wait.”

Daddy sat up too, his smile warming Elizabeth’s heart as it always did. “Could you go and wake Mary for me, Lizzie dear?” he asked.

Getting off the bed and hurrying for the door, Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, daddy,” she said agreeably. She sprinted from the room, heart fluttering like a bird who has recently learned the art of flight. That had gone better than expected. Her parents were both awake and now they could start the day. The only difficult thing would be waking Mary up. Mary didn’t like being woken up, especially early in the morning. Elizabeth knew this all too well. Getting up early always made Mary grumpy, even though waking up early meant that she could spend more waking time praying to God, something that Mary loved doing.

Opening the door to Mary’s bedroom, Elizabeth scampered over to the bed and stood over it for a moment. She looked down at the face of her adult half sister, once again seeing the resemblance between herself and her spiritual sister. Mary too had the firey red hair of the Tudor family, but Mary’s was a face that she knew only from seeing the few photographs of Catherine Aragon, Mary’s mother and daddy’s first wife.

“Mary,” Elizabeth whispered, her little head bent close to that of her sister, “Mary, come on, wake up. It’s Christmas day. We’re all getting up and daddy wants you to get up too.”

With a loud groan, Mary Tudor opened hher eyes and glared at the pretty face of her seven year old half sister. “Oh, Liz,” she moaned, sitting up and blinking, “what are you doing?”

“Waking you up,” Elizabeth said brightly, stepping back and beaming. “Daddy says that you have to get up.”

“Go downstairs and I’ll meet you there,” Mary sighed.

Agreeably, Elizabeth ran from the room and sprinted down the stairs. Mary was not happy. She hadn’t expected her to be but as she hurtled into the family’s lavishly decorated living room, she hoped that Mary wouldn’t ruin the day for her.

The living room was brightly lit, a six foot Christmas tree dominating the scene. Elizabeth made her way directly for it, sitting upon the floor and staring goggle eyed at the piles of presents that littered the floor around her. There were three piles of presents that looked as if they were wrapped toys. Elizabeth could see her name on quite a few of them as well as Mary’s. But the third name she could see puzzled her. A number of presents were clearly meant for someone else, Edward. She did of course know who Edward was. Everyone in their family knew who Edward was. He was Jane Seymour’s son. Jane Seymour was their next door neighbour and a good friend of daddy’s. Elizabeth had often seen Jane Seymour chatting with daddy in the garden. She was a pretty lady with blonde hair and a lovely smile. Mummy didn’t much like Jane Seymour. Elizabeth knew this very well. Mummy always scowled every time she saw Jane. Elizabeth wasn’t exactly sure why. Jane was a lovely lady and her son was a kind enough boy, if a little sickly most of the time. Elizabeth couldn’t think why but Edward did resemble both herself and Mary in a number of ways. Perhaps daddy and Jane Seymoor were cousins or something. Elizabeth wasn’t sure. She didn’t think that it would be a very wise thing to ask. Mummy hated discussing daddy’s friendships with the well dressed ladies they shared their hometown with. Mummy always shouted when daddy’s friends were mentioned.

But Elizabeth knew of all of them. Daddy had brought each one of them round to the house at some point in time. There was Anne Cleeves, the plane lady who was always so kind to Mary. There was pretty Katherine Howard upon whom daddy showered so much affection and there was Catherine Parr, a woman who adored daddy and his children. Elizabeth liked Catherine Parr. ‘Pretty Kitty Howard’ as daddy called her was not one of Elizabeth’s favourites, but she had never spoken a mean word to her.

The door to the living room opened once more and Anne Boleyn strode in, looking glamorous as ever in a dark pink dressing gown and purple satin pajamas. Elizabeth ran to her, wrapping her arms around her mother and squealing with delight. “Merry Christmas, mummy,” she repeated joyfully, squeezing her mummy tight, “I do love you.”

Anne Boleyn smiled down at her daughter, the girl she had created with her adoring and adorable Henry. “I love you too, Lizzie dear,” she replied. Elizabeth’s eyes bored into her own, pools of pitch dark perfectness. Such a loving child. Indeed, the most loving child that Anne had ever known. She just couldn’t imagine how such an adorable man as Henry could have created such a dull child out of Mary when her own Elizabeth was the very image of loveleyness itself.

“Merry Christmas, Anne,” said a low voice behind Elizabeth, who spun round to see the tall slender figure of Mary standing in the doorway. She wore her usual cross neckless around her neck and had taken the liberty of arming herself with her bible, a book that never seemed to leave her hand. Elizabeth had often wondered whether Mary slept with her bible at night. She couldn’t see any reason why she wouldn’t. Mary was among many things, religious to the very core of her being.

Elizabeth didn’t have the time or inclination to ponder too much on her sister Mary and her many strange mannerisms this morning. She scampered across to the stack of presents labled with her name and sat down upon the floor next to them. “Can we open our presents now?” she asked.

Anne nodded. “Of course we may.”

But Mary had other ideas. “I think that perhaps we should first spare a few words for the contemplation of the birth of our lord and saviour,” she said reverently, kneeling down upon the floor beside Elizabeth and folding her hands in her lap.

Anne’s voice rose up around Elizabeth as she tried to hold back her irritation. “Do we really need to share every one of our inner most thoughts with God, Mary?” she asked, a bite of impatience in her voice.

Mary didn’t look up as she replied, “of course we do. It is important that we observe the true meaning of this very important day. The coming of our sacred lord is the crutial and most important part of Christmas day. May we pray first?”

Anne nodded with the upmost reluctance. Whomever Catherine Aragon was, Anne was sure that next to herself, the woman would have been a complete bore.

Mary was watching Elizabeth closely out of the corner of her eye. Elizabeth knew that Mary expected her to join her sister in prayer. Dutifully, young Elizabeth folded her own hands in her lap, bent her head low and closed her eyes.

“Dear God,” Mary said in a tone almost close to mystified amazement, “we pray now to celebrate the day that marked the birth of your son and our saviour. Please, oh God, help us to celebrate this sacred day to the best of our ability and bring ourselves and everyone we love peace and prosperity on this special day. We thank you God for the gifts and love that we are about to receive. May the lord make us truly thankful, amen.”

“Amen,” echoed Elizabeth as she looked up and turned her mind to more cheerful matters.

The presents were opened with great gusto on the part of Elizabeth, who discovered with wide eyed pleasure that many people did indeed love her this Christmas. She had been truly spoiled. A couple of new dresses, a brand new watch, several dolls complete with outfits, a tiara, numerous soft toys and countless boxes of sweets were opened quickly with the young girl exclaiming in delight with each parcel she opened.

Beside her, Mary opened her own gifts more slowly and with the grace she doubtless thought was proper for a lady like herself. She unwrapped a neckless of silver, a new book from the old testamant, a new dress and a large hand bag with a soft smile at each one. When she was finished unwrapping her gifts, Mary looked up at Anne and said, “I thank you Anne. They are wonderful presents.”

“No problem, Mary,” Anne replied, somewhat stiffly, “I’m sorry that there isn’t more. We just thought that since Lizzie is the baby of the family, she should be made a fuss of at this time of year.”

Mary nodded dutifully and bowed her head, folding her hands once again as if in prayer to the lord. Behind the tightly closed eyes however, thoughts raced inside Mary Tudor’s head. Anne Boleyn had behaved thus ever since she had married her father and entered the Tudor family. Mary herself had been pushed aside in favour of their daughter, her half sister. But only Mary knew the real truth about her father’s antics. Mary knew that the pile of presents labled with Edward’s name were meant for someone who was considerably more to Henry than a mere neighbour. Mary had often seen the loving looks exchanged between her father and Jane Seymour over the past few months and she suspected that his wife Anne would soon be cast aside as her mother was in favour of the young Seymour woman. Mary wasn’t sure what was driving her father to such sin. Was it some mad mid-life crisis? Mary could think of no other reason.

Henry Tudor virtually bounced into the room and declared in a loud and booming voice, “breakfast is on the table.”

Anne turned to him with a flutter of her long eye lashes. “Oh,” she crooned, “I found such a good man in you my darling. A man who cooks breakfast for his family. I couldn’t wish for anything better.” She beckoned to Elizabeth with a sweet smile. “Come on Lizzie,” she called, “let’s go in and have breakfast.”

Grace was said at the large table around which the Tudors were gathered. Mary as usual lead the prayers with the dutiful young Elizabeth complying in silence. Anne and Henry watched the interractions of the two girls with bright smiles. Henry kept one eye on Elizabeth the entire time, happy for the child that he and Anne shared. Once grace had been said, chatter resumed, chatter about home, family and hopes for the future.

“I am thinking of maybe becoming a nun,” Mary informed the people around her in a voice of quiet dignity.

Anne smiled, the happy expression on her face carrying a hint of frost as she nodded at her step daughter. “I think that perhaps that is a wonderful career for you Mary,” she said happily, “you certainly have the right personality for it.” ‘Boring,’ she told Mary silently inside her head, ‘boring and predictable and nothing like my perfect daughter.’

The doorbell rang out clear and loud from the hallway and Henry stood up, all smiles even though he knew precisely who was standing on the other side of the door. “I’d better go and see who that is,” he said in tones of surprise.

Anne tossed her head with a dismissive smile. “Who on Earth is calling on us this early?”

“I guess I’d better go and find out.” 

Henry made his way into the hallway, opening the door to possibly the most beautiful looking woman he had ever seen in his life. Jane Seymour was standing in front of him, eyes alight with happiness.

“Merry Christmas, Henry,” she said with a bright smile and a nod towards a small boy who was standing at her side, “say happy Christmas Edward.”

The young boy looked up at Henry and said, “merry Christmas.”

Henry smiled kindly down at the young boy who looked so much like himself. “Merry Christmas, Edward. Come inside. I have a few presents for you that I think you’ll like.” 

Edward and his mother followed Henry Tudor into the kitchen where Anne, Mary and Elizabeth were finishing breakfast. Anne looked up, her smile fading slightly as Jane Seymour set foot over the threshold of her personal space. “Good morning Jane,” she said stiffly, “happy Christmas.”

“Merry Cgristmas, Anne.” Jane held out a small bag of presents and aimed a smile at young Elizabeth who had lept from her chair and was making her way at spead towards Jane. “These gifts are for you and your family. There is a present in there for each of you.”

Elizabeth threw her arms around Jane Seymour who bent down to hug her.

Anne was looking at young Edward who was standing beside his mother with a somewhat lost expression. The boy really didn’t know what to do or say to the people sitting around him. She looked to Elizabeth, wishing that she could walk across the few inches of floor space that separated herself from Jane and wrench her daughter away from that woman. “Lizzie darling,” she said loudly and with false brightness, “why don’t you take Edward into the living room and show him the presents daddy has got for him.” ‘Not what we have bought him,’ she added inside her head, ‘I didn’t buy that little brat one thing.’

Nodding eagerly, Elizabeth took hold of Edward’s hand and lead him from the kitchen. “You’ll love this,” she said happily as the children scampered away.

From her place at the family table, Mary frowned. Her eyes, so much wiser than Elizabeth’s, could see what even her step mother was trying to deny. Mary could see what Anne refused to show, the fasade that lay behind the bright smiles and tinsel wrapped gifts. Anne though knew all-too well what was happening. Mary knew she did. Anne’s family was falling apart. Christmas may be keeping it together but Anne Boleyn knew. Mary was sure that even though she didn’t want to admit it, her step mother knew about Edward and what he meant to Henry. Mary also knew that once Elizabeth was older, she would be able to see past the lies also. Edward Seymour had the blood of the Tudor family running through his veins. Mary knew that part of her father’s sin was in the denial of his youngest child. Mary also knew that his relationship with Jane Seymour was ‘hotting up’ as people put it. She was an observant soul and through the forced chatter of Anne and Jane, the smiles of her father and the happy squeals of Elizabeth and Edward in the living room, the snake of deception was slithering through their lives. Oh, they would hold the false happiness together until Christmas was over. They may even be able to keep up the jollity until the new year, but Mary Tudor knew that change was once again on the horizon. She couldn’t do anything to change it. Perhaps she could pray to God and put the safety and security of her family in his hands. She lowered her head and took refuge in the prayers that had saved her soul so many times before.

“Dear lord,” Mary said inside her head where only God could hear her, “please keep my family safe throughout the festive season and throughout the years to come. I know that the Tudors are facing some serious difficulty and I want my little sister kept safe from harm. Keep father safe and protect his soul from further sin. Please ensure that Jane Seymour’s son Edward is also kept out of harm’s way. I cannot change what is about to happen. I know that only you can do that. Please hear my prayers and do all you can in your infinite wisdom to protect our spirits and maintain the happiness that Elizabeth wants and needs so much. I thank you, God. Amen.”


End file.
